


no body, no crime

by thecryptictaxi



Series: evermore [6]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, F/M, Fluff, Funerals, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, Sugar Bowl Generation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:49:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29777811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryptictaxi/pseuds/thecryptictaxi
Summary: Beatrice didn’t cry — she didn’t feel sad, she just felt empty. Numb. She held the cigarette up to her lips, took a drag, then exhaled deeply. White smoke wafted out of her mouth, then disappeared.Happiness was kind of like smoke, she thought. Fleeting, and impossible to hold onto. She was better off without it.[after avenging her dead best friend by murdering her husband, beatrice has to attend her funeral.]
Relationships: Beatrice Baudelaire & Lemony Snicket, Beatrice Baudelaire/Bertrand Baudelaire
Series: evermore [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2107644
Kudos: 4





	no body, no crime

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [i wasn't lettin' up until the day he died](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28438248) by [N_Is_For_Knowledge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/N_Is_For_Knowledge/pseuds/N_Is_For_Knowledge). 



> so this fic is a tad different from the rest of my evermore series. it's not based on the song itself, but rather what happened afterwards because n_is_for_knowledge already wrote an amazing fic about the murder-y part. if you haven't read her fic yet, you definitely should. enjoy!

The funeral was on a Thursday. 

The police had discovered Kit’s body buried haphazardly in the nearby forest a week prior, and Olaf had been found guilty. Beatrice was relieved. She hadn’t wanted Olaf to go down in history innocent — even if he was already dead. The world deserved to know what an awful person he was, cheating on his wife like that then murdering her.

There weren’t many guests — the Snicket siblings’ circle ran small. Someone was up front, rattling off some insincere speech about Kit, but Beatrice was far too distracted to listen.

The fact that Kit was dead had never really quite settled in. After her best friend had gone “missing” she had been far too busy with the whole Olaf situation that she hadn’t had much time to think about it. Even afterwards, the satisfaction of the kill had taken away from the sadness. Now, at the actual burial, Beatrice realized that Kit really was dead, her lifeless corpse buried six feet under. 

She came back to reality as Lemony nudged her side. “Are you okay?” he whispered to her. 

“‘Okay’ is relative,” she replied. “How about you? Are _you_ okay?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “I _am_ at my sister’s funeral, after all.”

“Touché. Do you think Kit would have liked this? The funeral service?”

“No,” Lemony said. “She hated funerals. Always said they were too depressing. I feel bad though, sending her off so hastily. I wish we could have had more time to plan the service.”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Beatrice said. “This is depressing as hell. Let’s just hope her ghost doesn’t haunt us for giving her an extra depressing funeral.”

Lemony laughed, garnering many glares from the other guests. Beatrice rolled her eyes at them. A little bit of laughter never hurt anyone.

The person’s eulogy was ongoing. She was talking about how Kit was “such a good friend” and a “wonderful woman” and it made Beatrice glower. She knew for a fact that the woman up there was _not_ Kit’s friend. Who let her give the speech, she had no idea. She took a deep breath, willing herself to keep from marching up to the woman and snatching the microphone out of her hands.

“I can’t stick around for this shit,” Beatrice finally muttered out. “I’m off. Say my goodbyes to Kit for me.”

It felt wrong, leaving in the middle of a funeral — disrespectful, in a way — but she knew Kit wouldn’t mind. In fact, if she were alive, she would probably encourage Beatrice to leave early. With that thought in mind, she crossed the street and walked down the road to the shabby red bricked building that looked ready to crumble at any moment. She leaned her back against the wall and put a cigarette in her mouth.

She had made a promise to Kit to stop smoking, but in return, Kit had promised her that she wouldn’t die, so Beatrice supposed that one smoke would even things out. Her lighter flickered to life and she held it to the tip, lighting the stick of lung cancer, as Kit had called it.

The nicotine worked quickly, filling Beatrice with a light buzz of dopamine. It wasn’t what she was used to — it was a depressing sort of buzz, not as uplifting as she had hoped it would be. It was the kind of feeling that brought forth happy memories. But instead of making her feel happy, the memories made her miss her best friend even more. Not just miss, she corrected herself. The best way to describe it was homesickness — for a person, not a place. It made sense. Kit was her home. Beatrice felt a pang in her gut, knowing she was gone forever.

She didn’t cry — she didn’t feel _sad_ , she just felt empty. Numb. She held the cigarette up to her lips, took a drag, then exhaled deeply. White smoke wafted out of her mouth, then disappeared. 

Happiness was kind of like smoke, she thought. Fleeting, and impossible to hold onto. She was better off without it.

“Smoking again?”

Beatrice turned her head slightly, and saw Bertrand approaching her. She wasn’t surprised — he always seemed to possess a knack of finding her when she wanted to stay hidden. He was wearing an ill-fitting suit, but it was rather endearing, and Beatrice smiled slightly.

“Want one?” She held out the pack of cigarettes, then pocketed it when Bertrand shook his head.

He leaned against the brick building right next to her, and Beatrice smoked in silence, appreciating the quiet comfort of Bertrand.

“Smoke’s kind of like happiness, don’t you think?” he said.

Beatrice crinkled her nose. “That’s funny, I was just thinking about that earlier.”

“Happiness is like smoke,” he continued, “because it’s necessary. Without it, we’re held unaware of fire. Just as you need smoke to spot fire, you need happiness to spot pain. Otherwise, how will you know to put it out? Can you imagine a lifetime of pain, clueless as to what it is and how to put it out?”

Beatrice’s hand stopped halfway up to her mouth. “I… I’ve never thought of it that way.”

“How did you think of it then?”

“That it disappears too easily. Impossible to hold onto.”

“That’s true too, I suppose,” he agreed. “Bigger the fire, the more smoke there is, right? But happiness is many things, not just smoke. You put out the fire, then you have the leisure to search for a different type of happiness. Something that can last longer.”

“Tell me, Bertrand,” Beatrice said. “There’s smoke. You spot the fire. Then what? How do you put it out?”

“How would you put out a real fire?”

“Water, I guess.”

“And what’s water?”

“Well, the scientific name is H2O. It’s a liquid, and we need it to survive.”

“What else do we need to survive? Love, right?”

“...Yeah. I guess you’re right. But where will I find love? Olaf didn’t work out. Neither did Esmé. And I loved Kit, but she’s dead.”

The silence that followed was like an empty arena. For a second, she wondered if she had said something wrong. But then, hesitantly, and gently, Bertrand cupped her face in his hands. “I love you.”

Beatrice swallowed hard. Then, dropping her cigarette, she placed her hand over Bertrand’s. Hazel eyes stared into dark brown, and they didn’t speak — only gazed longingly.

An eternity later, Beatrice found her voice. It was low, and scratchy. “Can I kiss you?”


End file.
